


Oxytocin

by sburbanite



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Banter, Demisexual Crowley (Good Omens), Established Relationship, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Grey-Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Idiots in Love, M/M, No Angst, Sex Positive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-26 02:09:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20734514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sburbanite/pseuds/sburbanite
Summary: Here you are, dear," he said, passing Crowley a slice of coffee and walnut cake, "I had a very nice lunch. Tracy is quite the character. She did seem rather interested in our sex life, however."Crowley almost spat out his martini."We haven't got a sex life," he said, chuckling, "she must've been disappointed.""Well, not really. She's very open minded. I suppose you'd have to be to marry someone like Shadwell, after all. But she did get me thinking, I suppose.""Hmm?""I just wondered if you'd like to. Have one, that is. With me, I mean. Obviously.""Have one what?" Crowley asked."A sex life."(I wanted them to have fun, happy sex and to explore an angel's process of discovering sexuality. They're going to have a very good time figuring things out)





	1. Chapter 1

"I'm sorry about him," said Madame Tracy in a stage whisper, pointing discreetly at Shadwell, "he gets a bit uncomfortable in social settings."

The man was pouring something that smelled suspiciously like lighter fluid into his coffee, which had previously been a rather pleasant Americano and was now something Shadwell referred to as a "Glaswegian Handshake."

Or, at least, that was what it had sounded like. Aziraphale was never a hundred percent sure he was speaking English. 

"It's quite alright," he said, tactfully, "I'm sure if Crowley were here he'd be turning the table water into wine for the sheer irony of it. "Rebellious streak" doesn't even begin to cover it."

Aziraphale had tried to coax Crowley into joining him for tea with Madame Tracy - who was charming company and only lived three stops away on the tube, and had quite _ literally _ saved Aziraphale's skin during the whole Apocalypse debacle, which surely made her at least a friend - but Crowley had emphatically dug his heels in and refused. 

He was a demon, he said, and demons didn't have tea and biscuits with women who wore too much beaded jewelry in little cafés in Lambeth. Aziraphale had countered that the two of them had tea in little cafés all the time, and that surely supping with a Lady of the Night (or, in Tracy's case, due to her knees and the age of her clientele, the Mid Afternoon) counted as _ exemplary _ demonic behaviour. She was retired, Crowley had countered, basically reformed, if you thought about it, and married to boot. At this point, by his logic, Tracy was practically a saint. 

It had gone back and forth like that for a while, until Crowley had finally admitted there was a James Bond marathon on Channel 4 and he'd been planning on watching them all back to back. Nobody could do a movie marathon quite like Crowley, who didn't technically need to eat or sleep and didn't even blink except during advert breaks. 

Aziraphale had given Crowley his best put-upon sigh, but his heart wasn't in it. The battle was over as soon as Crowley spilled the beans. One embarrassed, pleading look and Aziraphale folded like a cheap card-table. These days, he could never deny his demon anything. 

Not anymore. Not now that he could do things like kiss the top of Crowley's head and tell him that it was fine, really, he should stay and enjoy himself and did he want Aziraphale to pick up any snacks on the way home? 

Not now he could _ finally _ show Crowley how much he loved him.

Aziraphale jumped when Tracy put a hand on his and smiled. Belatedly, he realised he must have been miles away, thinking about Crowley.

"So," she said, meaningfully, "how _ are _ things with your young man?"

Aziraphale opened his mouth and then closed it again. Not only had he been daydreaming about his demon, it'd been obvious for all to see. How embarrassing! Crowley was neither young nor a man, but he was wholeheartedly_ Aziraphale's_. He supposed one out of three wasn't bad.

"Um. Very good, thank you. We're very happy."

"I can see that, dear," said Tracy, squeezing his hand and giggling, "you have that look about you. Like you're so in love you're practically drunk with it. Oh, it's just darling. I remember how that feels."

"Cheers, to tha," said Shadwell, and upended his adulterated coffee. 

"Thank you, I think," said Aziraphale, choosing to ignore the way Tracy was looking adoringly at Shadwell. The man was sitting in sullen silence, trying to drink discreetly from his hip flask and failing utterly.

"And you must be having so much fun in the bedroom, what with him being a demon! He looks the sort to be very creative." She clapped her hands together excitedly.

"I suppose he is," said Aziraphale, thinking fondly of the time Crowley had explained his little trick with the M25. It was horrible, of course, but definitely creative. He hadn't seen much evidence of creativity when Crowley was decorating the bedroom in Aziraphale's little flat, but there was only so much you could do with such a small space. 

"Not to mention flexible," said Tracy, lowering her voice to something approaching sultry, "I hope you don't mind me saying so but those legs of his! I haven't seen trousers that tight in decades!"

They were, indeed, very tight. Aziraphale was convinced that he miracled them into being only a few millimetres larger than his legs, and he hadn't yet seen the demon try to take them off. That would be a sight to see, he was sure, with a lot of red-faced hopping about if he wasn't allowed to banish them demonically. Aziraphale felt his face heat up in sympathy, and because Tracy was waggling her eyebrows in a way that made it impossible not to finally catch her drift.

"Ah, um, I'm afraid you've got the wrong end of the stick, as it were. We don't, er. Do that. Angels and demons don't, generally. It's frowned upon, to be honest, since the whole business with the nephilim. Those poor women had a terrible time of it."

Tracy's face fell a little, possibly in disappointment that she wouldn't be getting any juicy stories, but she recovered admirably.

"Oh, well, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply anything inappropriate. It's just that you seem so _ in love _ and, well." Tracy smiled at him warmly, "You're not what I imagined when I thought of an angel. You like a bit of fun, for starters, and you cheat at whist."

"I do not!" Aziraphale huffed.

"Whatever you say, dear." Tracy winked. 

Aziraphale tried to look affronted, but only half managed it. He maintained, privately, that using angelic miracles when the other player was clearly cheating herself was merely levelling the playing field.

"However you choose to love each other is wonderful. All I'm saying is that you shouldn't hold yourself back because you think something's not allowed."

"No." said Aziraphale, thinking of every time he'd wanted to hold Crowley's hand over the millennia, "no, I suppose not."

Tracy smiled mischievously and nudged her husband with one sharp elbow.

"And if there's one thing I've learned from all my years of experience, it's that you never know if you'll like something unless you try it."

"Away, we ye, Jezabel," said Shadwell, blushing furiously. 

"I'll bear that in mind," said Aziraphale.

He did, for the rest of the afternoon. 

***

Crowley had his eyes glued to the action when Aziraphale got back, flat out on the sofa with magically replenishing martini. The TV had been one of the first things to migrate over from Crowley's cavern of a flat to the snug little space above the bookshop. It took up most of one wall, but Aziraphale had to admit that Crowley's nature documentaries looked stunning and it was well worth the disruption to his decor to see his yellow eyes light up with excitement.

Aziraphale waited for a commercial break, watching Crowley's subtle reactions to the current car chase and plating up the slices of cake he'd picked up at the café. To most people, Crowley would have looked like off-puttingly still, but Aziraphale knew what to look for. He was enjoying himself immensely. Soon, the car chase cut to a dejected-looking woman with a filthy kitchen, and Crowley suddenly noticed he was there.

"Hello, angel. When did you get back?"

"Oh, not long ago. Here you are, dear," he said, passing Crowley a slice of coffee and walnut cake, 

"I had a very nice lunch. Tracy is quite the character. She did seem rather interested in our sex life, however."

Crowley almost spat out his martini. 

"We haven't got a sex life," he said, chuckling, "she must've been disappointed."

"Well, not really. She's very open minded. I suppose you'd have to be to marry someone like Shadwell, after all. But she did get me thinking, I suppose."

"Hmm?" 

The cars were chasing each other again. Some of them had men leaning out of the windows, shooting at each other. Aziraphale couldn't have identified which film it was if someone had held a flamethrower filled with hellfire to his head.

"I'll talk to you about it later," he said, patting Crowley's knee, "I'd hate to make you miss something exploding."

To his surprise, Crowley muted the TV and looked at _ him _ instead. Aziraphale 's heart leapt at the sheer romance of it; of Crowley choosing him over his favourite piece of media in all of history, and his mood was only dampened slightly by what Crowley said next:

"S'alright, it's only the Lazenby one. Awful acting and way too maudlin, you know I can't stand the gloomy ones. What were you going to say?"

"Oh, well," Aziraphale swallowed, suddenly anxious. 

This wasn't how he thought this would go. He thought it would be easier. He'd just breezily ask Crowley if he felt like trying sex, as if it was a new sushi restaurant or a bottle of Peruvian red. In reality, with Crowley's yellow eyes softly meeting his own, it was never going to be that simple.

"I just wondered if you'd like to. Have one, that is. With me, I mean. Obviously."

"Have one what?" Crowley asked.

"A sex life."

Crowley had made the sensible decision to put his Martini down as soon as Aziraphale started talking, but he still had his piece of coffee cake which he dropped unceremoniously onto the floor. Aziraphale tutted loudly and miracled the whole lot, cake and broken plate alike, into the bin.

"I carried that here on the tube, you know."

"Angel," said Crowley, blinking slowly, "not that I'm not interested or flattered, but where the heaven did that come from?"

"From the café, of course. The tea wasn't up to snuff but somebody working there really has a knack for baking."

"_ Angel_."

"Oh, _ alright,_" said Aziraphale, huffilly, "I was just curious, that's all. Tracy implied that it was, well, _ fun_. And from what I've read, very intimate and satisfying." He looked away, unable to handle the look Crowley was giving him. There was concern in there, and hope, and a little bit of pity.

"And I've never really explored any sort of sexual affection. I do love being with you, my dear, in every way we've tried so far. Would it be so different to try another?"

Crowley's brows had been knitted together like amorous caterpillars, but when Aziraphale smiled at him all the tension fell away.

"'Course not," he said, taking Aziraphale's hand and drawing him closer, "If that's what you want, angel, nothing would make me happier than trying something new with you."

A wave of relief broke through Aziraphale, carrying his worries away. He rested his head on Crowley's shoulder happily.

"Oh, good," he sighed, "I'm so lucky to have you, my dear."

"Mmm."

The film seemed to have finished, replaced with images of diamonds and silhouettes of women dancing. It was difficult to tell, but Aziraphale thought they looked a bit chilly dancing about naked like that.

"You really are very _ good _ to me, Crowley," he said, smiling wickedly.

"Shut it, angel," Crowley snapped, and turned up the volume on the TV.

Aziraphale ate his cake quietly and watched Crowley again. He was smiling now, and Aziraphale wondered how much of it was Crowley secretly pretending that he was chasing down villains in his Bentley and how much he could take credit for himself. 

Judging from the way the smile stuck around during the adverts, it was quite a bit.

***

Crowley passed out for three days straight after his movie marathon. If he hadn't been snoring, a strange hissing little sound that Aziraphale found uniquely endearing, the angel might have taken him for dead. It wasn't quite long enough for him to need dusting (something that Aziraphale had grudgingly begun doing after Crowley woke up from a week long nap in a fit of sneezes), but it was long enough that Aziraphale began to miss him. 

"My sleeping beauty," he said, softly, running a hand through Crowley's gorgeous hair. The demon snuffled deeper into his pillow, and Aziraphale had to admit that sleep did look very comfortable. Particularly in their bed, which Crowley had forced Aziraphale to visit fifteen different boutiques to shop for and had paid a small fortune for. Crowley maintained that the feathers in it were from a bird so endangered that its name was known only to a secretive cabal of mattress makers, who made beds for all of the European royal families. Aziraphale had checked the tags and found it to be filled with ethically farmed goose down.

Aziraphale changed into his pyjamas, got under the covers and let himself sink down into it, shuffling close up against Crowley's back. The mattress held them in a warm embrace, a bone-deep softness that tugged at the loneliness in Aziraphale's chest and unravelled it. He put an arm around his beloved and told himself that a little nap wouldn't hurt. Maybe, when he woke, Crowley would join him in the land of the living.

It felt like no time at all before Aziraphale felt Crowley shift in his arms, stretching his long legs out until his feet were off the edge of the bed. Aziraphale blinked blearily awake, watching owlishly as Crowley arched his back against the mattress. Sleeping for so long was murder on the vertebrae, no matter how soft or expensive the bed.

"Mnuh?" He said, stupidly, eyes unfocused but looking in the general direction of Aziraphale's face.

Of all the things that had changed between them in the strange, unexpected continuation of Earth's story, this was one of Aziraphale's favourites. Crowley was never more confused or disheveled than when he'd just woken up, but he was always completely, languidly at ease. There was nothing of the perpetual tension that had haunted him for six thousand years, sharpening his edges and setting bone and sinew as a shield for his soft heart. Like this, the softness in him shone bled through, crawling like ink across the pale parchment of his skin.

"Good morning, darling," said Aziraphale, kissing his surprised lips thoroughly.

"Wha?" Crowley replied, when the kissing was finished, "W're you asleep?"

"I was, for a bit, yes. And I say "good morning" but I haven't a clue what time it actually is."

Crowley snuggled up against him, apparently satisfied that he wasn't dreaming and Aziraphale really had joined him in bed. Usually if he woke up next to Aziraphale, the angel was reading or doing a crossword. He was seldom wrapped around Crowley like this, and Aziraphale hadn't fallen asleep next to him since the night the Apocalypse had failed to happen.

"S'nice. You should sleep more often, angel. Like waking up next to you."

"Mmm," Aziraphale hummed, smoothing Crowley's back through his silk shirt, "I like it too. Your hair is all over the shop, dearest."

He brushed a wayward strand out of Crowley's eyes. Before Crowley could make a snarky comment he cut him off with a kiss.

"I like it." He reiterated, "Its a privilege to be the only one who gets to see you _ au naturel_."

"Typically that means naked, not without hair product."

"It can mean either, and you know it," said Aziraphale, "although I'd be amenable to the other meaning as well."

Crowley's eyes widened a little. Aziraphale smirked; his offer had done an admirable job of waking Crowley up completely.

"Yeah?" he said, tentatively.

"Yes, my dear. It would be lovely to touch all of you, and we've seen each other naked before."

"That was in _ Rome_, angel. It didn't mean the same thing, then." 

Crowley grinned, raising one lascivious eyebrow.

Aziraphale laughed. 

"No, it most assuredly did not. I wouldn't have appreciated the presence of the other people in the baths if it did."

"I wouldn't have minded."

"Foul fiend," Aziraphale said affectionately, as he helped Crowley out of his pyjama shirt, "Why am I not surprised that you're an incurable exhibitonist?"

"Cause you know me," said Crowley, simply. 

It was true, and the truth of it caught in Aziraphale's throat and made an odd little sound. There were no two beings in all the universe who knew each other as completely as he and Crowley. As he had been many times since the world hadn't ended, Aziraphale was overwhelmed by the depth of feeling between them. They loved each other completely, as no other beings ever had.

"Thinking about the six thousand years again?" said Crowley, brushing away a tear Aziraphale hadn't realised he'd shed.

Aziraphale nodded.

"Me too, love. But it's been at least four thousand since I've seen you with your clothes off, so I'd like to get on with it if you don't mind."

He snorted and shoved Crowley's bottoms down, leaving him with a very happy, very naked demon. Crowley retaliated by snapping his fingers and miracling Aziraphale's pyjamas away into the corner of the room. 

"Hey!" Aziraphale gasped. 

He wanted to be annoyed at the treatment of his things, which were over a century old and absolutely irreplaceable, but then there was an awful lot of warm, warm skin pressed up against his and he forgot all about it.

"Hmm, you've made an _ effort_, angel."

Crowley ran a hand over Aziraphale's hip, his thumb dipping close to the soft cock nestled between his legs. 

"Well. I've always felt comfortable without, but I thought it might be time for a change."

"S'always good to try new things," Crowley agreed.

Lazily, he draped an arm and a leg over Aziraphale's side and pulled them flush against one another. 

"Thisss, for example."

It was almost too much, Aziraphale thought, as a shiver ran across his skin. Crowley was wiry muscle and lean perfection, uneven patches of chest hair glinting in the morning light. He was everything Aziraphale remembered from all those centuries ago but now he was allowed to touch, to taste. He was allowed to truly appreciate every part of this creature he'd loved for the better part of eternity. He pressed his lips to Crowley's collarbone, so sharp it seemed about to cut itself free, and smiled.

"I quite agree."

They lay like that for a while, lost in the bliss of skin against skin. After a few minutes, though, Crowley began to get fidgety. It was clear that Aziraphale was having a certain effect on Crowley's corporation, and the same could not be said for Aziraphale's.

"Er," said Crowley, awkwardly.

"It's alright, my dear. I haven't put in the, um. Plumbing. You know, glands, hormones, that sort of thing. I thought I'd get used to it existing before I put it in the driving seat."

Crowley relaxed, relieved, and began kissing along Aziraphale's neck. It felt divine, especially when Crowley reached his pulse-point and stayed there, sucking gently on the skin. 

"I didn't mean to worry you, darling. I should've said something."

"Nah," said Crowley, detaching reluctantly from lavishing Aziraphale's neck with kisses, "wasn't worried, just a bit confused."

The line of Crowley's own effort was pressed against Aziraphale's stomach, firm and delectable. 

"It suits you," said Crowley, swallowing thickly. 

He cleared his throat, and Aziraphale felt his demon's heartbeat quicken against his chest.

"The cock, I mean. Wasn't sure if you'd go for something else, considering what a little hedonist you are."

"I have no idea _ what _ you mean," Aziraphale said primly, "and well. I did a little research while you were sleeping. This configuration appears to be the easiest to handle for, um, beginners."

"Ha!" Crowley laughed, "Yeah, you could say that. Practically comes with an instruction manual. Really big font. All caps."

"Yours certainty seems to like me," said Aziraphale, almost overflowing with pride. It was extremely flattering to be the centre of Crowley's focus like this, to be causing such a beautiful physical reaction. To be eliciting little gasps with every kiss to Crowley's overheated skin, every movement of his hips.

"The damn thing does have a bit of a fixation," Crowley admitted.

"Oh?" 

"Mmm. It's only ever been interested in one person, to be honest. Must be a manufacturing error. I ought to complain."

"Still got the receipt, have you?" 

Aziraphale shifted his hips again and treated himself to a glorious handful of Crowley's arse. The noise he got in response was something between a sigh and a moan, and he dearly wanted to hear it again as often and as loudly as possible.

"Six thousand years is a long time for a warranty, dear boy. I think you're probably out of luck, I'm afraid."

"'Ziraphale," said Crowley, somewhat breathless, "you should probably stop that if you don't want me to..."

In answer, Aziraphale pulled Crowley on top of him. And, _ oh_, if he'd thought simply embracing had been ecstasy, it had nothing on being surrounded by the lean weight of him, hips spasming involuntarily as Aziraphale explored every inch of his back. 

"Darling, why wouldn't I want that?"

"S'not, you're not," Crowley stammered, "y'know, not very romantic, is it? Want it to be sssspecial, your firssst time."

"Oh, Crowley." Aziraphale looked up at the face he had studied for six thousand years, and had loved for almost as long. His eyes were squeezed shut, eyebrows drawn up in an expression that could have been mistaken for pain if Aziraphale didn't know him so well. His hair was damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead. Breathtaking, Aziraphale thought, as he brushed some of it out of Crowley's eyes, he was _ breathtaking,_ There wasn't a painter alive who could've captured half a fraction of Crowley's desperate, fragile beauty as he shuddered his way towards the precipice. His fall would be so sweet, this time, and Aziraphale would be there to catch him when it was over.

"I've waited so long to make you happy, my love," said Aziraphale, working a hand between them to touch the velvety skin of Crowley's cock. Crowley hissed as he wrapped his fingers around it, his body bowstring taut and shaking.

"Don't make me wait another second," Aziraphale murmured, his heart fluttering in his chest at the way Crowley squirmed, "I couldn't bear it. How could this not be special?"

He stroked Crowley a few times, enjoying the slide of skin against skin and adding just the right amount of heavenly lubrication to elicit a long, drawn-out whine.

"Angel!"

Crowley was holding himself back, Aziraphale could tell, and that wouldn't do at all. Carefully, he rolled the demon onto the bed and climbed on top of him, pinning him down protectively, possessively. Aziraphale had been built to protect, after all, and there was nothing he could think of that was more precious than this, Crowley's final loss of control after keeping himself agonisingly, punishingly in line for millennia. He quickened his pace, stroking fervently as Crowley's back arched under him, his hands scrabbling at the sheets.

"Angel, angel, I _ can't_," he was whispering, now, as Aziraphale kissed along his jawline, sucking little marks into the skin underneath.

"You can, my dear. I want you to."

"_Aziraphale_," Crowley gasped, a warning and a prayer, throwing his arms and legs around the angel as if he was the only solid thing in the universe. 

"I love you," said Aziraphale, softly, just like he had every day since the end had failed to come.

That was enough to set Crowley tumbling over the edge, apparently and he came with a shout, a loud "Fuck!" that made Aziraphale laugh in spite of himself.

Everything was still, afterwards, as Crowley got his breath back and his sweat cooled in the humid air. It was all a bit sticky, Aziraphale found, examining the mess coating his hand and both of their stomachs, but supremely worth it. He tasted a little bit of it, made a face, and miracled it away.

"I think semen might be an acquired taste," he said, "although I'm sure I'm going to enjoy the acquisition process a great deal."

Aziraphale smiled beatifically at Crowley, who was blinking a lot more than was normal.

"Who _ are _ you?" He asked, weakly.

"Oh, darling. I think I'm who I was always meant to be, don't you?" said Aziraphale, happily.

"Ngk," Crowley replied, and kissed him fiercely, stealing the oxygen from his lungs as if he'd die without it. He wouldn't, of course, but Aziraphale gave it willingly anyway.

"Ooh, I am looking forward to trying that again with hormones, Crowley," he said, later on, once his demon had been gently persuaded to let him use his mouth for speaking again, "it looks _ delicious_."

"It will be, angel, I can promise you that."

Crowley smiled at him like a sunrise, big and bright and glorious, and Aziraphale found he believed him completely.


	2. Chapter 2

It was like an itch, to begin with. A feeling under the skin that Aziraphale couldn't scratch. He felt hot sometimes, where he'd only ever felt perfectly temperate before, no matter where he was. It was odd, to say the least.

Not only that, but his genitals seemed to have a mind of their own. Anything seemed to set it off, send it achingly hard and straining against the fly of his trousers. Reading Pride and Prejudice was enough. Eating a particularly good slice of cake was enough. For Heaven's sake, Aziraphale thought, burrowing deeper into the sofa cushions, red with embarrassment. Why was _watching_ _Bake Off_ enough?

Aziraphale knew his own mind well enough to be absolutely certain that he wasn't sexually attracted to cakes of any kind. Or pastries, no matter how invitingly they were drizzled with icing. Crêpes were perhaps a different matter, there was a lot of mileage to be had from honey and whipped cream and strawberries...but he tucked that thought away for later. That was advanced stuff. Was it so much to ask, he remonstrated, to have one's sexual response restricted to things that were actually sexual in nature? He was going to have to ask Crowley about it, and he knew with six thousand years of cumulative surety that Crowley would find all of this _ hilarious_.

It was no good, though. He was currently rock hard from watching a young lady knead dough utterly un-seductively, and that was simply untenable.

Reluctantly, Aziraphale peeled himself off the sofa, wincing as his cock rubbed against the inside of his underwear, and went to find Crowley.

The demon was in his office, cheating at online poker on a laptop so thin that Crowley had, on several occasions, cut himself on it. He was playing five different tables simultaneously and causing several gamblers all over the world to swear off playing for life. Crowley had insisted to Aziraphale that this was ultimately a neutral deed - the amount of blinding rage it caused was weighed against the money (which he gave to Aziraphale to be donated to charity) and the sheer number of reformed gamblers.

"Um, Crowley dear," said Aziraphale, shuffling into the room dejectedly, "I think something might be wrong with me."

Crowley closed all five windows with a click of his mouse and spun around in his chair. It wasn't the spinny kind of chair, so he ended up leaning awkwardly around the side of his throne.

"What d'you mean?" he said, anxiously.

"Oh, nothing to be worried about, not really," said Aziraphale patting Crowley's arm reassuringly and then wishing he hadn't. If he'd thought the dough was bad then actually touching Crowley was a thousand times worse. He swallowed.

"It's just. It won'tgodownandIdon'tknowwhattodo."

"What was that?" said Crowley, a sly smile sneaking across his face, "didn't quite catch it."

Aziraphale frowned, pouting. Crowley was really going to do this.

"It won't go down!" He said, voice creeping up into a distressed wail, "It's been like this for hours!"

"_ Hours_?" Crowley hissed, "Hell's sake, angel, why didn't you come find me sooner? Or, y'know."

Crowley made a gesture, entirely too expansively.

"_Stop _ _that_."

Crowley grinned.

"Well, d'you want a hand with it?"

"No!" Aziraphale wailed, "I can't! It's not supposed to be there at all! I wasn't even thinking about sex, Crowley, I was eating a chocolate digestive with my tea and it just," he waved at his groin, "got ideas!"

"Biscuits," Crowley said, trying very hard not to laugh, "you got aroused from eating biscuits."

"It's not funny!" Aziraphale crossed his arms in irritation. "I'm in a great deal of discomfort, you vile, black-hearted creature!"

Crowley made a valiant effort to pull himself together and got most of himself if not together, then into the same general vicinity.

"Angel. Objectively, it is _ extremely _ funny. I'm sure we'll have a good laugh later. But right now you need to do two things."

He held up a pair of fingers, before ticking one off with his other hand.

"One. You need to turn your hormones down, you're basically a bloody teenager right now and I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy."

Aziraphale huffed, looking anywhere but at the amused, teasingly concerned golden eyes of his best friend. 

"And two," he said, gesturing vaguely towards the bump in Aziraphale's trousers, "you need to deal with that. Doesn't matter where it came from, it's not going to go away on its own. Trust me. You either need to miracle it or one of us can sort it out the human way."

"But," said Aziraphale to the floor of Crowley's office, "I shouldn't. I wasn't even thinking about you, it just showed up."

"Aziraphale," said Crowley, standing up so that he could lift the angel's chin with a slender finger, "are you thinking about me _ now_?"

Crowley's eyes met his own, drawing him in like yellow-gold lamps in the darkness. Aziraphale had seen them a million times, had tried to ignore the love radiating from them for far, far too long, but they'd never made him feel like this before. A sick, all consuming want filled him when he looked at Crowley, as if he'd discorporate on the spot if the demon didn't touch him right _ now _.

"_Yes,_" he breathed.

"Good," said Crowley, and kissed him.

And that...that was different. Before, kissing had always sent Aziraphale's soul soaring. He'd felt Crowley's love pour into him through it as a gentle warmth that filled him to the very brim, until he thought he'd burst with the brightness of it. 

This kiss felt like falling, like boiling, like burning. It felt incredible.

Aziraphale was dimly aware that he was making keening, desperate noises in the back of his throat. Crowley picked him up, kicking the chair away from the desk so that he could collapse into it and pull Aziraphale down on top of him, moaning helplessly into his mouth.

Everything was too much, too hot, too tight, and at the same time not _ enough_. Aziraphale wanted to fling his carefully maintained clothes into the sun, to rip Crowley's stupid sexy skinny jeans to shreds and devour him like a crème brulé. All he could manage in reality was to straddle Crowley's hips and rut up against him, kissing him for so long that his body protested at the lack of air.

"Angel," said Crowley, breathlessly, "will you hold still, for fuck's sake, I'm trying to undo your bloody trousers."

If Aziraphale had forgotten that he didn't need to breathe, Crowley had apparently forgotten that he could literally perform miracles. Snapping his fingers, Aziraphale sent all of his clothes somewhere, and for once he didn't care at all where they went. Exposed to the cool air of the flat at last, Aziraphale sobbed with relief.

"Ssshit," Crowley hissed, before wrapping a hand gently around Aziraphale's cock and finally, finally beginning to stroke him. 

The feeling was indescribable, pleasure beyond anything Aziraphale had ever felt, almost at the edge of pain as Crowley's slicked fingers caressed his oversensitive flesh. He was crying hot, wrenching tears of ecstasy, even as he babbled a mixture of words and sounds that had Crowley's hand shaking.

Soon it was unbearable. Aziraphale begged for it to end, for the blinding pleasure to stop, and then his orgasm hit like a tidal wave and swept him away.

When Aziraphale came to, pleasantly boneless in Crowley's arms, his ears didn't seem to be working properly. He was fairly certain Crowley was saying something, but it was all mumbling white-noise. Sound crept back in slowly, much like the sensation in Aziraphale's lower half.

"Aziraphale," said Crowley, shaking him gently, "you okay? Talk to me, angel. Tell me I didn't scramble your brains."

"Shh," he replied, swatting Crowley's arm half-heartedly, "fine. All fine."

Aziraphale lifted his head from Crowley's shoulder and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He really did feel fine, fantastic even. Every bit of tension was gone, his body loose and floating. On balance, he decided it was well worth making the effort for.

And then he opened his eyes.

"Oh, good lord!"

Crowley was a mess, his shirt torn open and his hair sticking up at all possible angles. At some point Aziraphale had thrown his silvery scarf away. And, _ and _.

Aziraphale struggled to find a tactful way to put it, even inside his own head.

There was semen all over his chest, under his chin, even in his hair. It was _ obscene_.

Crowley seemed to be extremely pleased with himself.

"Hi there, Icarus," he said, grinning lopsidedly, "did you enjoy that?"

"Your hair!" Aziraphale gasped, "Oh, I got it in your hair!"

Crowley threw back his head and cackled; a full body laugh that jiggled Aziraphale up and down in his lap. Oh, Aziraphale thought, this was all so embarrassing! He'd had genitals for less than a week and he'd already lost control of them. He buried his face in his hands, acutely aware that his blush went all the way down to his chest.

"Oh, come on now, don't worry," said Crowley, stroking his arm affectionately, "wouldn't be the first time. I held off for a century once. Damn near hit the ceiling when I finally released the pressure."

Grudgingly, Aziraphale let him uncover his face. Mercifully, the mess was gone. Crowley's hair was still completely disheveled, but at least it was clean.

"Why on Earth would you do that?" Aziraphale asked, awash with the new knowledge that an orgasm felt better than a ninety-nine on a sweltering summer day, "Abstinence is hardly proper demonic behaviour."

"I was asleep," Crowley grinned.

"Ah." Aziraphale pursed his lips. "Now it makes sense."

"Speaking of which, I dunno about you but I could do with a nap."

"But you didn't…"

Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably. He wasn't exactly an expert in sexual etiquette, but he was pretty sure that leaving your partner unsatisfied wasn't the done thing. At the very least, surely it was frowned upon? 

"Um," said Crowley.

He was turning a shade of red that almost matched Aziraphale's in intensity.

"I did," he admitted, "couldn't really help it."

"Are you sure? Your trousers are still on, dear."

"Pretty sure, angel."

"Oh." 

Aziraphale brightened up considerably. 

"Well. In that case, a nap sounds like a splendid idea. No offense, dear boy, but this ostentatious chair of yours is murder on the knees."

He made to stand, only to find that his legs hadn't gotten the memo. It had gotten held up somewhere around the base of his spine, and had somehow been translated into the instruction "collapse onto the floor with as little dignity as possible."

"Oh, bugger," said Aziraphale, plaintively, "Crowley, my legs have stopped working. Is that normal?"

As Crowley stood up, Aziraphale thought the demon didn't seem any more off-balance than usual, but walking for Crowley was one long, horizontal fall with only limited co-operation from each leg, so that wasn't really saying very much.

"S' a good sign, I think," he said, still grinning stupidly as he helped the angel to his feet, "made you fall for me twice." 

"Let's be glad it wasn't a hat-trick, shall we?" said Aziraphale, a little more harshly than he intended. 

Crowley flinched, and Aziraphale felt terrible.

"Sorry. It's just...I shouldn't have been so reckless. I didn't even think that there could be consequences."

"You worry too much, angel," said Crowley, leading him carefully out into the hallway, "who gets hurt if you have an orgasm or two? Definitely not me, that's for sure. I could do that every day for the rest of forever."

Crowley cleared his throat awkwardly, no doubt realising the implications of what he'd just said. It was odd; considering how whole-heartedly Aziraphale had thrown himself into their relationship as soon as he could do so without risking both of their lives; Crowley still worried, deep down, that it was something temporary. That one day he would wake up and the angel would no longer love him. No amount of assurances to the contrary seemed to help, so Aziraphale supposed he would just have to give him time. Eternity should be about long enough, he reasoned. 

"I'd like that," he said, smiling fondly.

As he usually did when Crowley was worrying unnecessarily, he kissed him a few times on the cheek, soft and loving, to bring him back into the moment. And this particular moment was a very nice one indeed, even if Aziraphale thought he might have friction burns on his knees from Crowley's stupid chair. 

"Anyway," said Crowley, blushing slightly, "The humans took the whole business with sin way out of hand, you know that. There's only one thing an angel can do that gets them the boot."

"Questioning Her wisdom." Aziraphale finished the thought for him, with a wistful glance at his beloved. 

"Mmhmm. And _ do _ you?"

Aziraphale thought about it, finally free to do so with the blissful clarity that came of six thousand years of denial melting away like mist on a sunny morning. 

"Never. How could I when She led me to you?"

"She took Her sweet time about it," Crowley hissed under his breath. Aziraphale made the diplomatic decision to pretend he hadn't heard. 

With Crowley's help, they both made it to the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed. At Crowley's insistence, Aziraphale grudgingly got under the covers. He still felt hot and generally uncomfortable, like he had an itch he needed to scratch on a limb he didn't have. 

"Did you turn your hormones down?" Crowley reminded him, as he stripped off his clothes and discreetly miracled away the mess he'd made, "Because I'm not going to sleep next to you if I'm going to get woken up by you humping my leg."

Aziraphale had, almost immediately after he'd come down from the high of his orgasm. Instead of surging through his body like a flash flood, his bodily urges had settled to a pleasant, gentle current.

"My dear boy, every single time I stay by your side while you sleep, you wrap yourself around me like an amorous octopus. A little payback is long overdue."

Crowley climbed into bed, taking his revenge by slithering up behind him and winding his arms around his angel much tighter than necessary. Strangely, Aziraphale found he didn't mind at all. Having Crowley wrapped around him, skin to skin in the golden afterglow, smoothed away every last bit of his discomfort. 

"Mmm, my darling. Could we stay in bed for a century, do you think? I'm not sure it would be enough, but it would be a start."

Crowley laughed, his breath tickling the back of Aziraphale's neck deliciously.

"Could do. Think of all the shrimp that would get to live long, shrimpy little lives if you didn't eat for a hundred years."

"I didn't say we couldn't order in, dear. Let's be reasonable."

Everything was soft and safe and warm, and Aziraphale let himself drift. This was what heaven should be, he thought. Love, unconditional and unbounded, filling every second and the infinite moments in between. 

"Was...was it alright?" asked Crowley, so quietly that Aziraphale almost missed it.

"Hmm?" he said, sleepily.

"I mean. You seemed like you were enjoying yourself. A lot."

"Oh, dearest. I was, you did fantastically. I would like to have a touch more control over proceedings, next time, and to actually get the chance to make love to you properly. I'm afraid I was rather selfish."

Crowley nodded, pressing the wicked curve of his smile against Aziraphale's skin. 

"Selfish?" he purred, "Do you have any idea what you were saying, angel?"

"Um. Not exactly. I hope I didn't say anything inappropriate."

"I dread to think what counts as inappropriate when you're naked and desperately thrusting your cock--" 

"Yes, _ alright _," snapped Aziraphale, "I see your point. I trust you appreciated whatever it was I said?"

"It was mostly my name," said Crowley, as smug as the day he rolled up to the bookshop in his brand new Bentley, "over and over, with a generous helping of "fuck" thrown in for good measure. S'no wonder I came in my pants."

"Oh dear," said Aziraphale, turning his face into the pillow to hide the fact he was trying not to laugh.

"Not to mention what you _ looked _ like, angel. I'm going to run that on a loop in my brain forever."

Aziraphale relaxed a little more, safe in the knowledge that Crowley had enjoyed himself immensely. He closed his eyes and the world shrank to just their bed, with two entities wrapped up in each other, body and soul.

Together, they slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Following Goldilocks rules we're going to have a third chapter - in this case the porridge is Just right, Just right and Just right, but this is Aziraphale we're talking about, of course he's going to eat all of them.

**Author's Note:**

> My plan is for Aziraphale to try sex with and without any kind of sexual attraction, and to greatly enjoy it both ways. 
> 
> This is more or less how I feel about sex, so it's all about that wish fulfillment, baby!


End file.
